It’s not that you left. I’m okay with that.
I’ve learned to accept it.
It’s that it was too damn easy.
It’s that you didn’t think twice.
Never give up hope. Believe me. The
one that got away, sometimes, comes
You want to know what it was? The moment I knew you were it? It was when I showed you the darkest parts of me, and instead of running away, you rolled out a blanket, laid on your back, and pointed out the stars.
Two Augusts ago, I saw you, briefly, negotiating the aisles of a grocery store with a litre of milk and a pound of tomatoes. You didn’t notice, and I was too nervous to say hello, but watching you walk by was like slowly driving down the street of my childhood home— you were familiar yet foreign, all of the memories were there only now, they were faint, like a warm light peeking through a curtained window after dark. I wondered who called you home now, and if they took good care of you, if they were grateful for every morning they awoke to the marvellous architecture of your bones and the design of your heart. But most of all I missed living in you, and regretted I ever left.
One day, you will wake up. You will be able to get dressed, eat breakfast, brush your teeth, take a shower, go to school, eat lunch, go to class, and come home. And you’ll be able to do all of that without thinking about him.
I’ll never be busy enough to not miss you.